


At least there will be plenty implied

by Florchis



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, S3, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 09:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/pseuds/Florchis
Summary: It's hard to be with Fitz without acting on her feelings, so in order to clear her mind, Jemma suggests they go outside to try Coulson's prosthetic arms in the snow.





	At least there will be plenty implied

**Author's Note:**

> From a tumblr prompt: “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”
> 
> I know next to nothing about snow, so. This could happen in between "Bouncing Back" and "Spacetime".

The idea is good, theoretically.

As it happens, what is theoretically good doesn’t mean that it will go well in practice.

(Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. Or it does, just not in the way she intended, that was to help her clear her mind from impatient thoughts.)

* * *

Jemma loves Fitz’s projects, the way he is always trying to make the world a better place, the lives of the people in need easier, the lives they and their teammates lead safer. Despite having an impressive IQ and an amazing ability to translate that intellectual power into reality, everything he does comes from his heart, and really, Jemma’s own heart flutters every time she thinks about it.

He is polishing little details on the new prototype of Coulson’s hand; Jemma doesn't know what number this one is, because he always has a new idea, something that will make it easier to use, more comfortable, more useful. When he doesn’t have anything else to work on, he always come back to this, and while she looks at his hands working on the little pieces like they were some form of art (on his hands they are, _they are,_ Jemma is sure of that), she wonders if they could be happy doing this kind of thing, working on prosthetics, for example, with his mechanical knowledge and her anatomical one. She thinks they could be, as long as they were together.

(She refuses to think about his hands working _her body_ like a form of art, because she knows that she won’t be able to stop if she starts. They are inching back together slowly, reclaiming the dynamic that broke under the pressure of ninety feet of water. She managed to not let her thoughts about him drift from an innocent path for longer than a decade; she can manage a little bit longer. He waited for her patiently for six months and longer before that; she can wait for him, even though the shape and the weight and the taste of his lips still feel ablaze on her memory. She can remain positive because she is not an intuitive person, but she can feel on her guts that sooner or later things will keep evolving between them; she is sure that _this is not how their story ends.)_

“You know what? We should try them.” The words leave her mouth before she can fully process them, because all her brain power is focused on not jumping his bones; she is constantly getting surprised by all the things she now finds attractive about him: how seductive she finds him when he is working is just one of them.

“Wh-what?”

“The hands. We should try them. _For science,_ you know. It’s snowing outside.” She waits till he makes the connection and her entire body goes warm when a blinding grin lights up his face.

“We totally should. For _science,_ Dr. Simmons.”

She is in love with him (that’s a fact, and Jemma Simmons is not one to deny facts) because he grew up to be the man he is, but she also loves him for the boy he once was that still comes out to play once in awhile.

“Lead the way, Dr. Fitz.”

* * *

She is having a breakthrough. Not a scientific one, one actually closer to a breakdown, but in a positive way. She hasn’t been in the snow since she got back from Maveth, and the cold sensation on her fingertips makes her feel so irrationally alive that it’s not even funny.

_Your body is alright, Jemma, you are able to feel things besides sand choking you up and loneliness clouding your mind. You are alive, and this is how your life is supposed to be._

She is so busy sinking her hands on the snow, the mechanical arm lying forgotten at her side, that she almost can’t process it when she sees Fitz trying to sneak on her- and blatantly failing-, his own mechanic arm… making a snowball float? _What the hell has he done with these prototypes?_

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”

She is too slow, of course, and she receives a handful of snow right on her face- he must have upped the temperature of the hand or something, though, because it’s not painful and it’s not that cold. Fitz, for his part, is almost rolling around in laughter, and it would make Jemma’s heart flutter if she weren’t so focused on revenge.

“Jemma, you should have seen your face!”

She doesn’t answer, because she doesn’t want to give him an idea of her coordinates, and unceremoniously drops an armful of snow all over his chest. Her arms are freaking freezing, but it's totally worth it. 

“Jesus, Jemma, that is freezing!”

“Aren’t you like scottish or something?”

“That doesn’t mean that I’m _immune to the cold!"_

He is outraged, shaking the snow of his chest like lava, and Jemma has never ever loved someone the way she loves him right now.

She could lean down and kiss him, both their butts freezing, and he would probably let himself be kissed. But the moment is not right, she has made herself very clear about how she feels about him, and now the ball is on his court. He has to want to move forward with her for this to work, and god, _does she want this to work._

“Come on, let’s call it a truce.” She offers her hand to help him get up, and despite just been touching the snow, his hand burns in hers. _I really want you to do this on your own terms, Fitz, but please, hurry up a little before I go out of my goddamn mind._ “I will make you some hot cocoa, and we will _not_ be telling Coulson that his very expensive, very high-tech prosthetic arm works very nicely at throwing snowballs.”

“Deal.” He leans towards her while she walks, and Jemma doesn’t say anything, just enjoys the way his warmth seeps through her not-snow friendly clothes. He might not realize it yet, but he is slowly getting there, and she literally can not wait.      


End file.
